


In the Constant

by Flannelkind



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Don't starve? uhh hunny there aint that here..., F/M, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Totally a mess., uhhh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24051946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flannelkind/pseuds/Flannelkind
Summary: Four years of pleasant, yet lonely solitude have now been broken by a wounded stranger crossing her path. She decides he can stay with her but where will this take her?
Relationships: Webber & Original Character, Webber & Wilson (Don't Starve), Wilson (Don't Starve)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	1. Aid

The warm sunlight that hung lazily on the horizon brought new light to the day, riding the night and leaving small shadows. Early morning dew collected upon every blade of grass, some slipping off and landing on the ground. The new day rising in liveliness as the first birds awoke, singing their songs to the rising sun. The cool, crisp air and budding flowers signified that summer was now in full swing.

Old rusted metal of a hinge creaked, echoing in the sleepy morning air. Behind the hinges stepped a young ravenette, her fingers curled around the frame of the door as she stepped out, pale digits against the crude paint-like substance she had casted over the entrance. 

She wore an open flannel, a tank top lying beneath it. Black pants ripped at the knees and obviously worn out accompanied by mud stained red sneakers.   
Picking up the axe that she had rested against the walls of her home the night prior she walked forward, taking her leave into the forest. The sickly sweet smell of pine tree sap pleasantly entering her nose as she moved forward.

She had been alone for what was four years now. She didn’t mind though. She found it rather peaceful as she could watch the mysteries of this new world unfold in front of her. Her mind grasping the magical qualities of this world easier than the technological ones back where she was from. 

She had no name for this place, untouched by anything but fierce animals and living shadows. The birds watching as she survived, thrived even. 

Peacefully she walked over previously trampled grass, the makeshift path lined with rocks of various sizes. The light of the sun flickering onto exposed dirt whilst she walked, taking in the sounds of the forest coming to life as in the distance she could faintly hear the babbling of water. 

A crooked sign was passed, it’s lettering already fading due to the weather. ‘Food and Rest up this path’ it read, but no one had ever come across it except herself every day. She expected it though. Impossibly tall mountains were to the north, an expanse of water to the west, land for miles in the other direction that she had yet to explore. 

The sound of the brook was much louder and suddenly she found herself in front of it. The steady flow of water moving quickly over rocks and the pebble like sand, turning some up as it crashed upon itself. Hopping down the small hill to the dip in the earth she met before the shallows, casting her gaze to the single trap that held two fish. Their sickly silverish green scales enticing her as she slipped off her shoes and socks, resting them on a stump along with her axe. 

And she waded into the chilly water, making her way to the trap and taking the net with her as the fish thrashed lightly. The lower half of her face was outstretched in a grin as she made her way back to the shore, the light pull of the current against her feet. 

Tying the net into a tight knot and then putting her shoes back on, warm woolen socks now covering her chilled feet as she stood once more, throwing the axe over her shoulder along with the fish. And then she moved up the hill, following the path once more.

Her mind riddled itself with plans as she walked, ‘Winter’s coming sooner that I’d like’ she thought as another part of her mind played with how to cook and cure tomorrow's dinner. Her eyes remained forward as her mind played with itself, watching as a catcoon scampered up a tree. ‘I should start the winter supply again’ she thought, passing the sign once more and missing the small difference from earlier. Her feet moved through the needles until they met the softer grass of the meadow.   
A soft breeze moved past her as she stepped out of the shadow of the pine trees, the sunlight now beating down onto her shoulders. Goosebumps littered her skin as the mixed temperatures graced her senses, a shudder moving through her body. 

She quickly found herself rounding the small cabin and meeting the small excuse of a smokehouse and opening it. A small hutch containing Birchnut wood, more than she’d ever need, stood as she grabbed two logs, tossing them into the old, cool charcoal. She reached for the knife that hung on the side of the smoking device, it’s handle made of bone and the blade was a dark slab of metal that was razor sharp on one side. 

Setting the knife aside she unraveled the knot and took a fish, forcing it to stay as still as it possibly could and then, without hesitation, she drove the knife straight through the fish, removing its head completely. Its body thrashed for a moment before going still. 

The other fish however, continued to thrash. Using all of its strength to fight for its life out of the water. 

She didn’t mind the other as she leaned forward, igniting the wood. Her eyes reflecting the new flickering light of the fire. The world seemed oddly quiet for a moment, the only noise was the wind whispers which she recited over in her head. Sometimes she could hear voices in the wind, but this was different. 

Looking to the tree line behind herself she stared at the green and brown landscape. The sun beating down onto her as vigilantly vibrant eyes scanned. A familiar feeling crept up into her as she watched, her lips drawn into a tight line. Her fingers curled tightly around the smooth bone of the knife, her mind wondering if it was those devilish hellhounds. Her last encounter with those foul creatures left a nasty scar on her left arm. 

The slight waver of the wind rustling the shrubbery was distracting enough, her eyes already squinting as if to focus better. Green, brown, green, brown, green, brown, green, brown, green, red, gree-

She looked back to the small bit of red coloring in the distance. It was too large to be a bird and there were no other red animals she had stumbled upon. Stepping forward she caught a better sight of the creature. 

A man. 

He shuffled, his torso bent forward with one arm clutching the bottom of his ribs. He looked pale and even from this distance she could see that he was on his last legs. She quickly found herself sprinting to the figure, dropping the blade and meeting him. She reached out and he collapsed in her arms, the taller figure’s head falling into the crook of her shoulder. She wrapped his good arm around her shoulders, effectively hoisting the taller one but her eyes wandered to the crimson stained fabric. 

His arm was torn up and looked as if it would need stitches and tentative care. There was the tell tale bite marks of the hounds. Her heart wretched as she moved forward, her mind raced as they met the gate.

It had been two hours or so since she had brought this man into her home. She stood in the bedroom doorway and watched him stir, his lips turning into a grimace before relaxing once more, quivering. His fingers would twitch for a moment before stilling too, digging into the thin quilt she laid out for him.   
She turned from the doorway and entered the main room. The soft sound of the fireplace crackling brought light to the pot that sat above the flame. Water turned to steam which brought a delightful aroma to the air. Carrots, potatoes and other vegetables she had planted in the yard in front of the house mixed in a turkey broth, bits of meat added with the crude excuse of pasta noodles. The shape was nothing like the egg noodles she had grown up with, their different sized rectangular shapes were odd, but they tasted all the same.

It was no chicken soup but it was the next best thing to come to her mind when she brought this half dead man into her home. Her mind crossed to the gaunt look of his face and the thin frame. It almost physically pained her to think of how long he must have been without food. 

The soft sniffle from the adjacent room roused her attention, but the mutterings and soft, half-sleepy vocalizations made her move to the doorway, looking in and seeing him analyze the room. His expression was pure confusion which she left him that way. A small, friendly smile crossed itself on her face as she grabbed one of the makeshift wooden bowls and the ladle, filling the bowl half way. And then she dipped a wooden spoon into the soup bowl.   
She moved back to the door and brought a hand up, knocking on the dark wood to gain his attention. He looked up almost immediately and both of them made eye contact for the first time. Pale grey irises heavy with fear. Thin fingers held tightly onto the blanket, “W-who are you? If- if you don’t mind my asking” his wavering voice was deep, and it rang with a distinct british accent. For a moment she saw a gentleman sitting there, her imagination redressing him in a clean version of his discarded clothes; red button up vest and white dress shirt. 

She found herself trying to speak but it died in her throat, and she coughed into her hand. Vocalizations were something she hadn’t done for a long time, four years or so. “I’m just your friendly local hermit” there was a tickle in the back of her throat as she spoke, the feeling was unfamiliar. Her joke wasn’t understood and she watched him quirk an eyebrow upward. “Whitney. Whitney Roni.” there was an accent in her voice too, mellow and soft, her voice and tone was almost like verbal honey, “and you are…?” The ‘O’s’ were lengthened slightly, pronounced differently. She stepped forward, stirring the steaming soup with a spoon while looking at him with her cool, blue eyes. 

There was a pause and he seemed to relax to the faintest degree. “Wilson” he breathed, “Wilson Percival Higgsbury.”


	2. Rain

An amused huff left my nose as I smiled at this lanky man. “Well Wilson,” I said as I looked to the hot bowl in my hands, “it seems like you’ve been roughed up pretty bad-” looking up I decided to tempt this man with this meal which needed to cool some, “-half starved to death I’m afraid”. I smiled as I watched his eyes watch the bowl in my hands, “I don’t suppose you have the strength to hold without burning yourself and I don’t have anything you could rest it on at the moment.” I breathed out, looking at the man whose shadowed eyes widened. “I assure you, I - I am per-” he winced as he tried to raise his arm, almost doubling over, his head meeting his knees. 

There was nothing I could do but watch as his breath leveled once more and he looked to the bandaging, the neatness was well done but he was shirtless. He seemed almost upset upon noticing the fact that he was half naked in front of me as he made a movement as to cover himself up only to wince and grunt in pain once more.   
“Wait-” I breathed and he stopped moving, “Here, stay still” and I put the bowl in between his legs, resting just before his knees and then I scurried out of the room. Quickly I grabbed one of the chairs I had whittled not too long before and proceeded to drag it across the hardwood flooring and then to the bedside. 

Looking back to the man and taking the bowl from him, watching as he attempted to swallow whatever saliva that had collected in his mouth. His adam's apple bobbing.

I sat in the seat, looking at him as I lifted the spoon out of the bowl, it held a carrot and broth in the divit of the spoon. Carefully I directed it to his mouth which he took it into after blowing on it softly. 

As his lips closed on the spoon his eyes light up, crashing closed as he was unable to subdue the moan of delight which caused me to giggle. 

“I never thought my cooking was that good” a smile rested on my lips as I brought the spoon back to the bowl, dipping it into the broth. He hummed, swallowed and then spoke, “Goodness, that was wonderful. What is that?” and then he smiled. His teeth showed, straight and almost white. A small gap in between his front two teeth was something that caught my eye.

“Chicken-” I stopped “-well, turkey soup.” I brought the spoon to his lips once more which he gratefully took in. “Closest I could get to chicken soup…”I breathed out, watching my hand as I brought the spoon to the bowl once more, hearing him hum softly again. “Well it’s absolutely lovely, miss”  
I could feel the soft heat against my cheeks as I smiled, bringing the spoon to his lips again but averting my eyes, looking out the window instead. As my hand retreated I slowed, just beyond the tree line, I could see the gathering of dark storm clouds. The faint light of lightning shone in the distance already. I stood suddenly, “Miss?” and placed the bowl on the chair. 

My head turned to Wilson, “I’ll be back.” was all I said as I turned to the door, only to stop “W-wait! Miss! Where are you going?” there was a faint sound of panic in his voice and I turned to him. His eyes were wide, scared once more as his eyebrows knitted together. “Don’t worry,” I offered a smile, “I’m just making sure we’ll have food for tomorrow.” 

The chill of bitter wind nipped at the exposed skin of my neck and sent shivers through my spine. The breeze from earlier had turned to strong gusts which whipped the branches on the outskirts of the meadow. I found myself pulling the shutters closed first, locking them together as the wind lifted the heavy flannel off of my back.   
With a shudder I casted an angry glance to the rumbling in the distance, moving to the small smokehouse and knocking my shoulder against it, making an attempt to push it with all of my weight and- surprise, surprise- it didn’t budge. 

Sighing I met the last two shutters, viewing Wilson from beyond the glass. His head moved from looking to the bowl of soup to the doorway. 

Deciding to give the guy a scare, I raised my hand to the glass and brought it back down quickly. He jumped, nearly falling over and then looked over to the window, his eyes wide before relaxing. “You scared the daylight out of me!” his voice was muffled but still heard. I smiled as I shut the shutter on him. 

After lighting the small wax candle and setting it on it’s hook I turned back to Wilson. “Now,” I breathed, moving the chair and sitting in it, “How did you get that beat up?” A shaky breath left him “Well, while I was mining at night-” I cast a look which he sighed at, “Yes, a foolish idea, I know.-” his eyes became the same tired ones from earlier, “Something tore my camp to pieces and then I was chased here by those mad dogs” there was something in his voice, a waver that sparked a feeling in me.

The light of the flame made enough light for me to view the pained look on his face, “five years of work-” he rubbed the bridge of his nose as a broken sigh left him, “-five years lost. And I was so close-” his head dipped.

The haze of incoming thoughts that flooded my mind was difficult to understand as I looked at this man. “Hey-” My voice was unsure itself, “Don’t worry about it. You can continue your work here” I felt stiff but my words felt right. His head raised, wide glossy eyes and lips parted slightly. 

“A-are you serious, miss?” he asked, his eyebrows pulled together again but this time in uncertainty. 

A faint smile crossed my lips as I spoke, “Yeah, I don’t see anything wrong with it. I have plenty here and you’re in a spare bedroom” I laughed softly.

His eyelids relaxed, drooping as a smile etched itself on his face. “Thank you, miss” was his only response and I casually waved it off, standing up and moved around the chair. “S’no big deal, bud. Now, get some rest, ‘kay? I’ll wake you for dinner” from the corner of my eye I could see him nod and then shift in the bed, laying down as I shuffled out of the room.

The light of the fireplace was enough for me to move around the main room. The shelves that lined the wall had specific things. One had cooking materials, ranging from spices to berries. Another shelf held bowls, spoons and forks. One had pots and pans, and two burlap sacks sat next to the shelves. One full of salt that took me nearly a month to obtain two years ago and the other was full of wild rice, or the equivalent here.

Plopping onto the bench in front of the fireplace, I looked into the flame. The crackle of the coal beneath the pot kept the soup hot, but that wasn’t what we were going to have for dinner too. ‘How could I make this better’ the wind howled outside, rain finally began hitting the roof of the cabin. Softly I exhaled, shedding the flannel and finding myself sitting in my worn out tank top. Hanging up the flannel on the edge of the bench, I looked to the pile of wood in the corner. 

Taking a log and throwing it into the pit with a huff, watching as embers flew up. And then an idea came to my head. 

Reaching over to the shelves I picked a carrot, broke it up and then threw it into the broth. Next I took the bag of rice, the heavy bag was like that of the ones back in Minnesota. In fact, the rice was a lot like the rice from Minnesota. 

The sound of the rain against the slope roof called as the wind shook the shutters. Through the slivers in the shutters I could see out into the storm, the heavy rain falling hard almost in sheets. A continued stream that looked more like a foggy, tilted waterfall.

‘An hour and thirty minutes...’ I thought, sitting back on the bench, leaning back. ‘After that I’ll wake Wilson up’ I put my hands over my eyes, sighing deeply as I listened to the rain.

The sudden clap of thunder caused me to flinch, a yelp escaping my lips as my eyes darted around the dimly lit room. The flames were a lot lower and the smell of wild rice soup lingered in the air heavily, the aroma bringing me back to my old home for a moment. It took over the faint smell from earlier easily.

The groggy feeling of sleep rested in my eyes as I stood, dragging my feet to the fireplace and placing two logs into the cinder. The coals took the new fuel greedily, sparking a new, bright flame and illuminating the entire room. ‘Now we’ve gotta wake Wilson’ I thought, turning to the doorway of his room. 

The candle was more than halfway burned, the wax melting down into the bowl that sat on the hook. It still bathed the room in a soft orange glow. Enough to see around in at least. 

I looked to Wilson’s form which still lay on the bed, his head propped on the pillow I had given him, his injured arm protected by his good arm. He looked peaceful, content. As if he hadn’t slept in a long time, that or not consistently and soundly. His mouth was partially open, the tooth gap defined by the light, his mane of hair in the shape of a ‘W’ pressed downward, messed up slightly.

I felt bad. Having to wake him when he looks so peaceful. Slowly I approached, feeling worse as I now stood beside the bed and his sleeping form. He’s an attractive person, I can’t deny that. Strong cheekbones, sharp jawline, a shapely nose, and the light grazing of black stubble on the lower side of his face. I felt my face grow hot again as I observed him. ‘Stop’ I thought, still looking at him but now moving to meet his level. I brought my hand to his left bicep, nudging it softly as I whispered his name. He mumbled something incoherent and then his left hand moved to touch mine, his longer, slender fingers collapsing over mine.

“Wilson!” I spoke clearly, a ‘normal’ level of voice as his eyes popped open but he stayed still, as if trying to figure out the situation as his sleepy mind awoke.   
Slowly his view drifted to his hand and then he jerked it away, gasping and then sitting up quickly. “I am so sorry, Miss! I-I didn’t mean to- I” ''don’t worry about it, Wilson.” I interrupted him, raising my hands as I then shuffled out of the room to retrieve one of the thin graphic tees I had arrived with. When I reentered the room Wilson was sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes fixed on the floor.

“Heads up” I threw the shirt at him before he had time to react, it hit his torso and then landed in his lap. Tentatively he took it in his hands and I left him to get dressed, “dinner’s done” was all I called back to him.


	3. Accent

I could hear the wobbly footsteps of Wilson entering the room and I readied myself to go to his rescue once more, turning only to find him standing in the doorway of his room. He’s considerably taller than me, standing at a solid 6’2” or 6’3” while I stand at a steady 5’5”. 

He took a step forward, entering the room as I gestured for him to sit at the whittled bench before grabbing his bowl from earlier out of his room. Upon re entering the room I saw Wilson sitting, his hands on his knees as he looked to the flames. “So,” I spoke, walking to the pot and pulling up a ladle of soup, “How long has it been since you’ve eaten anything?” I filled his bowl and returned it to him, the warm food seeping through the wood already. “Uh,” he stammered as I approached, “A week or so I believe? Maybe a little longer…” I handed the bowl to him, his voice was small as he thanked me which I brushed off once more, returning to the shelves and taking a bowl and spoon. I sat down beside him as he brought the first bite to his lips. I watched as his eyes closed and he melted, sighing softly as he pulled the spoon out of his mouth. I smiled slightly and took my first bite as well.

It was okay, not seasoned correctly but that was fine. 

I was taking small bites, making sure to chew thoroughly, laminating in the flavor and the memories it brought up. When I looked at Wilson I nearly choked. He was eating quickly, too quickly for someone who hasn’t eaten in a while. “W-woah! Wait a second there, bud!” I nearly hollered, moving to take the bowl from him before he stopped dead in his tracks, “you’re gonna get sick if ya’ eat it like that” the back of my mind poked at the fact that my accent was more prominent. 

He looked sheepishly at me with stuffed cheeks. Swallowing the food that was in his mouth he spoke with a small laugh, “sorry,” his embarrassed smile was cute, “I haven't had anything this good in a long time.” He looked down at his bowl and upon my own further inspection I noted that it was empty. 

“Well hell, ya’ don’t need to hoof it down, bud. We’ve got plenty!” his eyes lit up and he opened his mouth, shutting it again. I hummed as I took the last bite out of my own bowl, looking to Wilson as I swallowed. “Want any more?” his eyes met mine again, there was a faint expression that I couldn’t make out. He bit his lip and looked away momentarially, “if that wouldn’t be any trouble my dear.” a smile rose to my face as I took the bowl out of his hand, “Nah, s’no trouble ‘ere,” I stood, turning to him and offering an excuse of a curtsy. “Warm bowls and full stomachs are the way to go, dontcha know?” I sang softly, turning on my heel. After filling our bowls I saw that we had a little less than a bowl full remaining.

Taking my seat back on the bench I handed Wilson his bowl, watching him sniff the warm soup and hum. “What is this stuff by the by?” he asked, pulling the spoon to his mouth once more. “Well,” I tapped the spoon against the bowl, “I’d like to say it's the equivalent to my favorite comfort food back where I’m from,” I muttered, the wind outside howled as the rain fell heavily outside. I looked up at him, “Manomin” His face contorted, “what?” was his only word.

“Manomin- it’s the ojibwa word for wild rice.” I paused, “it’s wild rice soup.” the ‘oh’ that left him isn't satisfying. “There’s a whole lot you can do with the stuff. Very filling” I took another bite. 

A puzzled sound escaped him, “where are from, miss?” his voice was curious and I looked up at his face again, one dark eyebrow quirked upwards with wide eyes underneath them. I had to stifle a small chuckle as I swallowed another bite. 

“I’m an American,” I stirred the soup, moving the rice around, “Straight from the midwest, Minnesota” I buried a small chunk of turkey. “We’re the nice Americans” I heard Wilson laugh softly. “I agree with that statement” I nudged him, “oh, ye’ betcha, eh?” I spoke with a full accent, smiling as he laughed.

“Do-” there was a wheeze, “Do you actually talk like that?” I smiled, “well, some of us Minnesotans do. We all do have our accented ‘o’s though” Wilson’s laugh was visibly genuine, his body moved with every bellow. It was infectious and I found myself laughing along with him.

I wasn’t sure about the time but the rain was still pouring outside. The food was gone and we were sitting around talking. Tiredness was falling over us and before we knew it, we had retreated back into our rooms to sleep.


	4. Tour

A nudge and the soft whisper of my name made me open my eyes slightly. Through the sliver of vision I made sight of my savior. “Wake up sleepy head. We’ve got a big day ahead of us” her voice was soft, a whisper and then she moved out of my line of sight. Her footsteps were soft but fading quickly, her voice calling back to me “you’ve got five minutes, then breakfast’s done” her voice was soft sounding, a quietness that held some sort of power.

Slowly I sat up, wincing in pain as the sharp zap from my upper right arm. A hound bite. At the foot of the bed I found supplies to redress the wound and new clothes. A roll of cloth and a shiny safety pin. 

I sighed as my socked feet meet the floor, the tattered cloth providing little to no protection against the chilled wood. As I stood I carefully shed the shirt, folding it as I placed it on the chair left here yesterday. It was a faded red color, the front had a print that I couldn’t make out. 

As I took off the soiled bandages I noted the look, red stained the off white fabric turning brown already with age. The wound itself looked terrible but not as bad as when I had first seen it. Black thread was embedded into the flesh, holding it together. The smell of iron and disinfectant. Alcohol. Something I had not smelt in years.  
The stinging stench of stereilness seemed almost too unfamiliar for my taste.

Miss Roni was sitting on her haunches next to the fire pit, poking the small flame with a short stick. The smell of eggs was faint but noticeable, in any case, I thought it smelled heavenly. “Morning Wilson” she didn’t even turn to me as she spoke, pushing the eggs into another wooden bowl with a knife. A fork already rested in the bowl and she stood, turning to me and holding the wooden dish. I took it, thanking her which she waved off again. 

She was wearing a different outfit than last night, her shoulders covered by a large red sweater, her legs covered by sweatpants. The sweater held loosely on her frame, her collar bones pressed against her skin. Her frame- I cast my gaze up to her face once more. Mentally slapping myself for objectifying my very own savior.

I found myself eating quickly, trying to avert my gaze as she poured water onto the flame in the pit. The eggs were good, very good. Every bite allowed my taste buds to tingle, making me salivate. 

“How’s it?” her question made me stop and swallow, clearing my mouth to talk. “They’re delicious!” I beamed at her and then took my last bite. “Well that’s good, now eat up. We’ve got things to do” her accent rang in my ears as I gulped down the eggs. 

The sun hung low above the trees as I followed Miss Roni around the meadow. Berry bushes and other vegetables are the fenced yard, a rabbit hutch in a far corner. Currently she was rambling about how she handles the produce over the winter, a smile gracing her face. 

We had toured the meadow and now we were taking our time to mozy back to the cabin, I couldn’t help but listen to the tones of her voice as I followed beside her. They were soft and tender, sweet and devout but most of all soft. Her voice was so soft. Rounded vowels and a quietness that he admired. Calmness. Her voice moved in pitch as she spoke. Like whispers in the breeze.

Turning onto the path I had followed only yesterday, we ventured into the forest. The soft crunch of the dead pine needles under our feet sounded as we moved forward. The soft chatter of wildlife in the trees was quiet, groggy still from the night. Miss Roni silenced as we ventured down the path, listening to the creatures in the distance.

Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun held together with twine. Light reflected off of it slightly but not by much. It reminded me of my mother's hair whenever she would chase me and my sister around the yard. 

I found myself smiling fondly at the memory and I made a note to hold onto it. For sanity's sake. A peaceful person is bound to create peaceful memories and Miss Roni was a peaceful person. 

Stepping carefully down the small hill after the shorter lady we met the bubbling waters of a brook. She moved to a tree stump and I stood near the hill. I watched as she took off her shoes, wadding her socks and pushing them into the shoes. She turned to me, a lopsided smile across her face “Come on bud, I’ve gotta show ya’ how to set these traps.”


	5. Observe!

A week had passed and I had allowed Wilson to start doing things. In the distance he had set up his little area. 

The sun was hot against my back, sweat rolling down the curve of my forehead. It’s warm, warmer than I was used to back home. As I wiped the sweat away from my face I couldn’t help the feeling of physical tiredness creeping up into me. 

I stretched, the popping sound of my joints was slightly satisfying. I looked to the area Wilson had set up shop, he was building something out of wood and stone. I decided to move over to him, his back faced me as I approached. Tinkering on.

The sound of stone on each other was foul. ‘What a terrible sound’ I thought bitterly, now looming over his shoulder, peering down at the contraption he was creating. Hollowed out log, stone mechanisms and gold. I stepped backward and coughed, watching him jump at the noise.

He turned almost immediately, his grey eyes shaking momentarily before crashing shut with a frustrated sigh. “Guh- could you noh-not sneak up on me like that?” his eyebrows were knitted together, his voice was slightly annoyed. His right arm was snug against his torso and his chest moved rapidly. I smiled, “I guess” was all I said as I sat down next to him, allowing the taller grass to surround the both of us, him visibly swallowing.

“I think we should chill for a moment, bud” I said, leaning back on the palms of my hands, looking up at the sky. The brilliant blue littered with the wisps of white. “You can’t be serious” he sounded appalled, as if I offered something absurd. 

“Dead serious” I hummed as I laid down on the cool grass, the sun warmed my face. The sky seemed familiar here even if it wasn’t.

He huffed, returning to whatever he was creating. The scraping sound reminded me of Minneapolis. The vivid neon LED lights at night, the smell of the city. The sound of cars. Different smells, from food to oil. A fond smile rose to my face as I remembered my family. The large Victorian style home that stood proudly on one of the corners. Memories continued to roll in my head as I drowned out Wilson’s noise. 

Suddenly he stopped.

I listened to him stand, the sound of his pants rubbing together as he shuffled in place. I sat up, my eyes still closed. Reopening my eyes I saw the sight of his creation standing on three legs, puffing smoke as a wooden wheel turned. Wilson’s hands were on his hips and he was standing taller than he had before.   
He was definitely 6’3”.

The curls of his hair bobbed slightly as he turned to me, his gaze meeting mine. A happy light shone behind silvery hues. A large, toothy smile played on his lips. I swallowed a wad of saliva as the pressure to respond grew on me. 

“Looks-” I drew out the s as I thought about how to phrase the sentence, “cool- yeah, cool. But- uh- what is it?” I gestured to the machine. His expression dropped, “It’s a science machine my dear!” he exclaimed, his lips tugging down slightly.

“Care to explain how it works then?” 

His words blended together into a hush hum in my ears. Accent hitting hard, yet allowing the words to be smooth together. He was fond of his creation and it was evident in his voice, his expression as well. His mouth moved too quickly for me to keep up with him. Everything was blurred and I focused on him. He stood out in my vision like a sore thumb, minus the apaullingness.

He was still obviously malnourished, less than last week though. But it worked for him. The thin face looked like it was sculpted out of white marble. His sharp jaw and cheekbones were attractive, hollowness of his cheeks added to the thin look. Deep shadows accented his eyes. Those silver grey hues. They were still puffy from lack of sleep. It’ll take him a while to recover from this but that didn’t matter at the moment. His nose was thin, pointed downward but it didn’t extend too far, dusted light pink at the tip. His eyes would flick back and forth from me to the machine and vice versa. Grey slates and dilated pupils. 

“...if any of that makes any sense to you…” I felt myself jumping as everything synced up. “I, uh, can’t say that it does” I blinked, raising to my feet. “Thanks for the lesson though” I gave a weak smile and turned to the smokehouse. 

Turning back I could make out the slight pout that I would get when a DC comics fan would get told off by a Marvel comic fan.


	6. Smoke

Coughing harshly into my elbow after breathing a lung full of burning smoke that barreled out of the contraption. My free hand waving the smoke away as I attempted to take in oxygen. My eyes watering as the sting of soot burned my respiratory system, struggling to clear them and dropping to my knees. Gasping and feeling like a fish out of water. 

The faint sound of Wilson’s voice was deafened. I feel faint, but finally I could feel the pain begin to reside. I spat on the ground and rubbed my eyes. I could feel the sickness rising inside of me as I shook, taking in as much air as I needed, spitting again. My saliva was sticky and felt like glue. 

A large, unsure hand was placed on my back. Rubbing small, jerky circles onto the back of my ribcage. Awkward by comforting. We’ve only known each other for a week at most. Why was I allowing this kind of contact? Why was he okay with providing it? 

“Are you done?” I spit once more, bringing my hand up to my face to wipe my mouth. “Y-yeah. I’m good” my voice shook, scratched. I waved my hand at Wilson but refused to raise my head to meet his gaze. ‘That was dumb, Roni’ I thought dimly as Wilson’s hand left my back. 

I shook for a moment before forcing myself to stand. Lightheadedness made my vision hazy, wobbling as I stood I could hear Wilson shuffle as I reached into the contraption with my clean hand. 

I gripped the descaled fish, the tender meat was easy to grab. I practically slammed the door of the smoke house, stumbling to the fence and rounding the corner. I could tell Wilson was being the caretaker now as he hovered two or so feet away, prepared to catch me if I fell. Maybe it was the prior isolation making this feeling so intense but endearing, tickling my lungs and urging another small cough out of me. 

Disgusting.

It made my heart flutter, the pounding of panic turning into flustered beats that skipped. unusual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, if you're reading this I want you to know that I love you. Also, this is shit so I'm wondering why you're still reading. But I will tell you this if you /ARE/ still reading. It gets better, I promise.


	7. Memories

I could feel the faint pain in my ribs as I sat in my room. The flickering orange light bathing the room in a dim light. My fingers grazed over old pages, colored and faded from time. Writings I had previously worked so hard on. 

It was difficult to think that I was once so comfortable to sit around and do nothing but write. I could remember the slight numbness in my fingers after writing for extended periods of time, the stiff wrists and endless pondering of stories.

Looking back I could hardly believe that I didn’t publish anything to anyone. 

I missed the books I would read. The inspiration to write in another's creation was something I craved. A story. Something that could ease my mind and give me new ideas. I used to use so many different words, slang used in different countries and time eras. I was told I could write people so easily but I couldn’t read them. But that’s not true. I just- I never knew how to react to people. I always tried to avoid others. 

They’d call me antisocial, a loner, an outsider, an introvert, a hermit. Something like a wallflower. I was bizarre to people. Aloof. I didn’t want to socialize, just watch. Some of my classmates in the past feared me. Afraid I would do something besides watch. Those girls called me nothing but ‘the Cynic’. They didn’t even know what a cynic meant. My eyes flickered over the words, drawing over the same phrase. 

“While darkness draws in the flicker inside must be built up further”

The bittersweet taste of irony was left on my tongue. Light it the only real protection at night in any case in this world. Fire is crucial. 

Outside I could faintly hear the odd voices speaking nonsense once more. The living shadows making their attempt to lure me out of the safety light. I suppose that’s what insanity sounds like. Does everyone who ends up here experience the voices? 

A part of my mind played with plans for the future as my eyelids become heavy. The words on the pages were mainly a blur, mixed together in my vision as I shut the loose leaf notebook, returning it under my bed. 

The room was pleasantly warm and from under my blanket I could feel sleep closing on me. Assuming my sleeping position I felt the sweet feeling of sleep wrapped me in its embrace but as I drifted my mind wandered to the man in the other room.   
\---

Closing my front door I met the welcoming sight of my small apartment. The bookshelf stood proudly, full of books of different sizes and lengths. Novellas and essays I collected. Mainstream and underground books. Literature. 

I took off my coat and set it on one of the hooks, the flannel that held itself against my shoulders still kept my body warm. Moving through the room and to the couch, plopping myself onto the soft couch. The soft light of the ceiling lamp above me shone bright enough to make me squint. The slight chill of unoccupied space from the prior six hours before was enough to make small goosebumps appear across my skin. 

I draped my arm across my face, shutting my eyes I could hear the sound of the bustling city outside. The sound of cars passing, the faint sound of people's voices casting upwards. It was loud out there but here it was nothing more than murmurs. 

“Say pal” the familiar voice from the radio chimed in. Static holding onto the light british accent. I had come to know this voice in my home as I have heard him for the last month or so. Maxwell is his name. 

He promised me ideas for stories everyday. I just have to do one small thing. He never says what the thing is though. 

There's something wrong about him though, I can sense it. People often say trust your gut and there’s something off about this voice. “Maxwell” I breathed, not moving from my position. There was a crackle of static before he spoke again, “You seem out of it today pal. What’s wrong?” 

Analyzing me is something he has been doing since I met him. He might have been doing it before he made himself known. It made me slightly uncomfortable but something I was used to. “Nothing” was all I could say, my mind going empty once more. Absorbing the sounds around me as I laid back, breathing softly from under the weight of my arm. 

“There is something wrong pal,” there was a pause in the static words, “I could help you”.

Help me? 

I peered at the radio, raising my arm only slightly. “How so?” my voice betrayed me and my attempt to seem almost uninterested. There was a chuckle out of the static. “Anyway you want dear”.

My heart leaped in my chest. “Anyway?” “anyway” his voice sounded so sure in itself. There was another pause, the purring of traffic outside almost being drowned out by the soft static noise. 

“I want to get away” there was a soft laugh and suddenly everything felt different, the room grew colder, dimmer. “I can do that”.


	8. Heat

The heat wasn’t exactly something I had become used to even though I had been here for four years. I laid on the cool grass, watching Wilson fiddle with another mechanism with squinted eyes. Every couple of minutes he would wipe the rosey painted skin of his forehead, the dark eyebrows raising as he would flick the salty liquid off of his wrist. 

I couldn’t help but feel admiration for this man. His face was pulled together in full concentration even though the sweltering heat. The only noise that would escape him was the sharp exhales whenever he would accidentally pinch his fingers in the machinery. He knows I’m watching him. 

Rolling over onto my stomach I looked to the diminishing pile of materials we both had moved only a couple of meters away. The rock pile was down lower than I had ever depleted it to. For a moment I thought to the old rucksack that sat in the corner of my room. The beefalo sleeping mat was still rolled up and tied against it. There’s still some tools in there in good working condition and if I’m missing anything I can make it now. 

There was a soft ‘yes’ that came out of Wilson and he made a movement and I looked back to him. He was holding a patch work sphere, the plates were bolted together and different colored. There was a corkscrew type of handle on what seemed to be the top. The three legged wooden stand stood only a foot and a half away with a hollow tube like thing coming off of it. 

He lifted the sphere and secured it onto the stand, his long, slender fingers inserting little bolts into three different holes on the legs. Inserting them and locking the machine in place. “What’s that?” he turned to me, a small smile laid on his face. He was shaved now, his face cleansed and smooth. “It’s an alchemy machine.” he smiled, knocking his elbow onto the machine. “Alchemy? Like chemistry?” “Yes!-” he paused for a moment, “-and no…” he withdrew his elbow, pulling it close to his side as I sat up, looking at him with raised eyebrows. “Explain it then” I folded my arms across my chest, offering a smile, “I might understand this time.”

The inside of the cabin offered a relief to the hot sun outside almost instantaneously. Wilson had joined me inside as noon had hit. Both of our cheeks were hot from the weather and sweat rested on both of our brows. We both avoided the windows, pressing our hot backs against the cooler wood of the floor. 

With a groan I sat up, throwing my hands to the ground with a thump. “That's it!” I stood up, my bare feet grazing over the wooden floors. There was a sound that escaped Wilson but I didn’t have the patience to listen. Shutting the door behind me, I moved to the pile of clothes and various fabrics, pulling out two long sheets of a linen like cloths. Throwing the fabrics over my shoulder I turned to the door once more, picking up the dirty pair of sweatpants and sweater. 

I opened the door quickly and saw that Wilson was sitting up in the same spot he was before. His head moved to me quickly, wide grey eyes. The creases beneath them were still there. Would they ever go away? “I’ve got an idea on how to be productive and cool” I tossed the spare cloth at him. “What-” he caught the cloth, examining it, “What do have in mind?” 

\---

The creeks cool mist of a breeze kicked up, the cooling sensation against my skin was wonderful. Hanging my excuse of a towel on a branch with the sweater and sweatpants I looked to Wilson who stood there. His shoes and holey socks were at the cabin with his vest. He was left in his crudely resewn and stained dress shirt and black slacks, the towel around his shoulders as well. 

I stepped down the hill, meeting the odd texture of the pebble shore again. Wilson still stood on the hill though as I waded into the water. I brought him further down the river, away from the traps. It was wider, deeper, but not dangerous. As the water met my hips I couldn’t help but snicker, looking back at Wilson. “Ya’ coming?” I called, smiling brightly at him as he hung up the cloth. “Is it safe?” he began to approach. Thin legs shuffling down the steep hill in small movements. I continued to move back, the water reaching my lower back, “Whaddya think?”.

When his feet made contact with the water I could see him freeze up, moving out of the water again. “It’s bloody cold!” he nearly whimpered and I laughed, “You’ll get used to it!” he shot a look that reminded me of a mock pout. 

He started to move into the water once more and before I knew it, he had made it to me. His arms were slightly raised, as if he were trying to keep out of the water. It was rather funny to see, “blimey…” he spoke softly, his eyebrows coming together again as his eyes shut. “So?” I drew out the word, looking around and moving further out, he gave me a different look. “I feel like I’ve been fooled into freezing myself to death” there was an excuse of hurt in his voice, his expression betrayed him as the edges of his mouth pulled upwards. 

“What!” I exclaimed, trying to be dramatic. “I wouldn’t do that” there was a soft giggle that escaped me afterwards. He was standing in front of me once more, the water met the bottom of my ribs and his waist. The feeling of the water moving around us, the tug of the current brushing against us. Powerful but not enough to pull us away. 

As our giggling subsided we were left in the ambience. The sound of insects chirping, birds singing. Familiar fauna. We weren’t looking at each other, well, we weren’t directly looking at each other. My view was on his reflection, the dark silhouette of his frame so close to mine. There was an unfamiliar feeling rising, something I had almost forgotten. He hadn’t moved in the shadow, staying still. Tilting my head upwards I saw him staring at me, eyes half lidded and cheeks bathed in red, the color stretching down to his neck. My heart sped up as I looked at this man, a different type of heat now rising to my cheeks.   
The unfamiliar feeling of fluttering in my stomach wasn’t repulsive like it used to be. It was different. Welcome. He slowly moved forward by a small step. There’s barely enough room for another person in between us. I could hear his breath, the soft yet almost labored huffs that left him. I said his name lowly, breathlessly almost. 

And then I splashed him with cold water. Watching as he jumped back and fell completely into the water. The yelp that escaped him brought me back to my previous feelings and I laughed. Closing my eyes as I mocked him slightly. 

The sudden, almost angry “why you” and then the chill of water being splashed into my face made me fall over too. The frigid waters ran over my face as the feeling of water moved across my scalp. I found myself breaking the surface, splashing him and watching him flinch.


	9. Pass time

When the fever of the sun passed the two made their way back to the lodge. There was a silence that enveloped the two of them. Their bodies weighed down their soaked clothes. Her once tied up hair now fell flat against her shoulders, still dripping slightly like the bundle of clothes in her arms. His hair a wet mop against his head, one strand hanging limply on his forehead. His clothes waterlogged and sopping into small puddles as the two trudged up the path. 

The chilly evening air was different but welcome. The feeling was unlike the blistering sun from the hours prior, it made goosebumps prickle their skin. The buzz of activity around them was almost comical to the shorter of the two. Animals always had better instincts than humans. 

Meeting the softer, tall grass, she followed him for once, letting him pass through the gate first. She seemed smaller than before, her mind in another place. Whitney had no idea what she was feeling as they entered the cabin, leaving the door open as the whisper of the wind spoke softly. 

The pale, white reflection of the moon casted itself through the window in four uneven segments. Resting on them both as they sat in the middle of the floor. She was nearly drowning in her quilt while he rested on his shoulders. They both were sitting in silence, watching the fire die down as they ate leftovers. 

When Whitney set her bowl down she looked to the taller man, “We should play twenty questions.” left her mouth. It was a suggestion that sounded more like an announcement. He looked at her, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Again?” he asked, a smile crossing his features as a huff left her. It was soft, a sound of amusement, “Yeah-” she quieted down for a moment, “Unless you don’t want-” he gave her a look that she had gotten used to over the past couple of weeks. She waved, “alright then, you first” “really?” there was a joking undertone to his voice, almost as if he were going to let out a baritone laugh again. And her face flushed lightly, “Yeah, bud, you’re up” she smiled, leaning forward in her bundle of blankets. 

He took in a breath, gently stroking his chin. “What’s your favorite smell?” there was a hum from her, “new books- or” she smiled, “-old books are good too, it’s like smelling the passage of time.” she was quiet again for a moment, “What’s your favorite food?”

“That’s a tough question,” the corners of his lips quirked up, “I’d have to say chocolate custard though” the snort of laughter left her, an outstretched grin showing those white ivores against the flicker of orange. “What?” his voice was different, an amusing question, “Nothing-” she inhaled sharply, “- I just didn’t think you’d know like that stuff!” there was a scoff from him as he brought a pale, skinny hand to his chest in a mock expression of shock. “What? Do you think I’m from a barbaric land!?” she continued to giggle, covering her mouth with one hand.

The sound brought heat to Wilson’s cheeks as a pressure wrapped him up, tightening its grip on his chest in a semi-uncomfortable way. This wasn’t the first time this has happened to him and there was only one word he could use to describe it. Intoxication. 

He shook his head, “what’s the maddest thing you’ve done?” was his next question. She gasped, exclaiming an ‘easy’ before taking in another deep breath. “When I was eight or so I climbed a really tall tree, it was like- twenty, maybe thirty feet off the ground? And I jumped from the very top. I didn’t think so. I just moved.” She paused, looking to the fire as she continued, “I managed not to break anything by using a technique I saw on Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” she looked back at him, gauging his confused and slightly concerned expression. “It’s a movie from the ninetys.” 

“The ninetys?” his voice was laced with confusion and she looked to him. “Yeah, I believe it came out in like 1990 excactly.” 

He swallowed, face pailing, “What… what year was it when you left?”. His eyebrows were knitted together, “2019? Why?” her eyes looked him over as a sense of anxiety rose in her. “When I left we were in the middle of the great war…” he breathed heavily as a shutter moved through him, “I’m from 1916”

“What…” Whitney’s voice faltered in a confused manner as her gaze rested on the man in front of her. “Thats-” there was a loss of words, her tongue tying itself.  
2019 minus 1916 that’s… a hundred and three years. 

He looked mortified, peering at his own hands as he muttered. There was an obvious sense of panic enveloping Wilson as the lady stood, dropping the cloak of a blanket to the ground. “What the fuck, Maxwell” she breathed almost under her breath. 

She was not qualified for this, emotional support isn’t something she’s good at. Anxiety was something she herself is used to but when it came to soothing others she didn’t know what to do. She watched him for a moment before sitting beside him. 

Wide eyes and a grimace, slowly she placed one hand on his back. The bone of his scapula jutted beneath the fabric of his clothes. She could feel the movement of his muscles beneath it with every breath. 

She shushed him, mimicking the movement from days prior that he had done to her. Moving her hand in a circular motion. He was almost like stone, frozen in one spot except for the occasional twitch that would rock through his body. “It’s alright Wilson.” her voice was soft, and her mind wandered to an old thing her mother used to do to her. 

She gently took one of his pale, shaking hands, rubbing her thumb into the thick, calloused skin of his palm. And he looked up to her, a stutter of breath exiting from parted lips.

And she leaned in, embracing him in warmth. One arm now hooked around his torso as the other still worked on rubbing the padding of his paw. He was quiet, “it’s alright” she breathed, squeezing his hand lightly. Like it was an affirmation of her word. And he melted, wrapping his long, thinner arms around her torso, squeezing lightly and pulling her into his lap. Nuzzling his nose into the crook of her neck. The shutter of breath escaping him, tickling her neck. 

After what felt like hours he spoke a simple ‘no’, pausing and moving his head further into the crux of her neck. “It’s not” his voice was weak, quieter than she had ever heard it. It was heavy and it set a feeling in her that was almost akin to sadness. And she pulled away from him, “No,” her voice was solid, “Wilson, it’s going to be okay.” she took his hands in hers again, offering a smile as she squeezed. “I promise.” Her words were warm, like her hands. 

And then they resumed their prior position except he led it this time, curling around her. Cuddling her. She couldn’t help the feeling that rose inside of her was she breathed in his scent. Something now familiar that caused her to flush. She had known of it before but not from first hand experience and she thought she wouldn’t ever feel it. Love. She knew that’s what it was, but to act on this would be something entirely new to her.


	10. Promise

A day had passed and the two had spoken little, both in confusion upon how they could be together in the same area and in embarrassment upon their actions towards each other. His head was full of bubbling questions and anxiety while hers was in a state of sedated shock. 

A hundred and three years. That was a doozy. And considering Wilson himself was a man in his early thirties he would’ve been a hundred and thirty something.  
Her mind wandered as she sat before the newly lit flame, the last light of the fluttering sun licking her exposed shoulders in the open air. The smell of pine heavy in the air and on her sap covered hands. Sticky with the trees resin. The flame took quickly to the wood, burning through the plant's blood like oil. 

In the distance she could hear her companion doing something, the sound of stone against wood and patting of hands against each other. She looked to the flame, the ocean reflecting the sun's hard glare. 

Flickering light was beginning to fight against the growing shadows as the daylight began to break among the trees. The temperature began to drop with the light, a chill resting upon her pale skin, littering it with gooseflesh and urging a small shutter to wrack her frame. Drawing her arms further up and around her knees.   
And there she rested, surrounded by trampled, plucked grass and the occasional flower. The ring of stones a mere two or so feet before her. Home to the new light she’d given life. The dance it made was hypnotic, drawing in her attention almost completely. 

Light footsteps didn’t even register in her ears as she stared at the flame, eyes drawn to it like a moth would be. There wasn’t even a reaction to Wilson as he sat down beside her, a foot of space between the two. 

And they sat, one worrying about the growing darkness while the other was in a trance. No words left either of them, their minds working tirelessly on the same topic in different ways. 

When the sunshine was gone she spoke his name, eyes never leaving the fire. She sounded flat, something that alarmed the scientist. He nervously looked at her, “yes?” his body shook lightly, either from the cool air or his jittery nerves. When she looked away from the blaze and to him he could feel himself freeze. Eyes meeting him before looking away again, “about the other night,” her voice was regaining its normal softness, something that began to soothe him.

“I meant what I said,” she looked up at him, the flickering highlight outlining his features, “We will be okay”. His gaze softened slightly, looking to her with a new found assurance before he looked down, becoming interested in the summer turf. When she clicked her tongue he returned to her gaze, “I promise, Wilson,” she smiled.  
Heat pooled in both of their cheeks as Wilson returned the smile, tooth gap drawing a giggle out of her which only widened his smile, coaxing his own bubble of laughter. And there was a fraction of a second where they leaned forwards to each other, only to pull away, pulling off a not so smooth save.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, remember me? I'm here to tell you that this is where (I think) it gets better.


	11. Trip

Fall was just beyond the bend now and it was becoming increasingly obvious, from the new chill in the air to the longer nights. This brought light to a new issue that Whitney became infatuated with. Between new supplies and more rice she was realizing that they’d need more supplies soon enough. 

And she began to discuss her plan with Wilson in bits and pieces as time passed, the topic becoming more pressing as fall grew closer. 

It was safe to say that Wilson wasn’t too thrilled with the idea of leaving the safety of the area. The familiarity provided comfort which he didn’t want to leave. But when she told him that she was the one leaving, alone, he denied her that. Pleading with her to stay. 

But that didn’t matter, she was going whether he liked it or not. 

She walked into the main room, rucksack slung over one shoulder and flannel tied around her waist. Wilson caught her in his gaze, eyebrows drawing together as she moved, passing him. He began to plead once again. 

“You can’t go,” she scoffed, pushing the door open, “I take this trip every year, man”. She looked over her shoulder, rolling her eyes. “Well-” there was uncertainty in his voice, “You don’t know if it’ll be dangerous!” she met the gate, stopping only to turn around, facing him. There was a lopsided smile on her face, “seriously”? He stopped, swallowing.

“I’m pretty sure I can handle myself, Wilson” he breathed through his nose sharply, frozen as she turned, moving through the gate. Momentarily his eyes flicked down before returning to the back of her head. His throat tightening as he thought for a moment.

“Wait!” she sighed.

\---

They walked, moving through the forest. They were going north, treading to the mountains. The sound of the forest life surrounding the two as she led him further into the woods. 

When the wintergreen pines began to thin out and they met the sudden expanse of grassland she made them stop. Her hand pressing to his chest as she stared into the pasture, viewing the herd of beefalo with a soft smile. Wilson’s cheeks warmed at the contact yet he looked her down with a questioned expression. Suddenly disappointed when she removed her hand and looked at him, a smile still resting on her face. “Sorry,” she looked back at the wild animals, “The tiny little calf from last year is still here” she looked up at him.

Her elbow nudged him, “Proof that nothin’s hopeless in the constant!” his lips quirked up, huffing through his nose as she then began to move again. Feet returning to the same pace as before. He easily made his way back beside her. Heat still pooling in his cheeks as they walked, moving through the crowd of peaceful (for now), smelly creatures. 

\---

A two days had passed since they began their trip, now the two stood before a graveyard, their first destination just beyond it. 

The lake stretched for what must’ve been at least a mile or so. But here they were parked, stopped before the fog. 

“You’re not going to defile a grave” her voice was firm but Wilson responded with a hum, tapping his fingers against the stock of the shovel. He cast a pleading look, “It’ll help create new things” he offered a smile. 

She scoffed, pinching the bridge of her nose, “I’m not dealing with upsetting a ghost” she sounded exhausted. “Okay,” he breathed, dropping his shoulders slightly, “I won’t,” she looked up at him, “even though we are leaving behind precious resources.” he breathed. 

“Thank you, hun” he froze up a little, swearing that she flushed lightly before walking through the low mist. He trailed behind her, looking at each passing headstone and what was written on them. Somewhere cryptic, others were odd, the final one they passed had a grocery list on it. 

He didn’t comment on it, following the younger lady. She removed her shoes and socks and then rolled up the bottom of her jeans before she waded into the water, hands of the loose straps of the rucksack. He stopped at the shore, shoving the shovel into the pebble like sand before moving to take off his own shoes. But, when he looked down he saw a smooth expanse of white just underneath the sand. This caught his attention and he found himself forgetting about ridding himself from his shoes to figure out what this is. 

As he brushed the small rocks away he was greeted with the unbroken bone of a skull. A small skull at that. It couldn’t have been anything except a child. Carefully he pulled the skull from the ground, fingers curling slightly around the curve of the back. “Whitney-” he looked in her direction before looking back at the skull. He heard her make a noise so he decided to continue. “I’m going to bury this little guy,” his eyebrows drew together. “Properly,” he muttered softly, standing and drawing the shovel back out of the sand.

He turned back to the grave yard, passing through wisps of white before stopping at the first grave. Digging into the site. When there was a decent sized hole he deposited the skull, placing it into the earth before hopping out of the shallow grave. Hoisting the shovel and beginning to deposit dirt upon the grave. But the sky seemed to darken as he did this, yet he paid no mind. Continuing his mission. 

He finished with a sigh, stepping away from the freshly turned dirt. Admiring his actions for a moment before he turned.

The loud boom from above him and the sudden flood of light next to him made him flinch, jumping away as the lightning struck the mound. 

His heart thudded against his ribcage as his eyes stared at the dirt. ‘That was unusual’ he thought, bringing himself to stand again. Brushing off the dirt that had collected on his pants. As he did so, he eyed the space where the lightning struck. His eyes as grey as the clouds above him. 

Things are weird in the constant, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was no coincidence about this and that skull. Maybe he should have listened to Whitney and not touch the grave, instead he should’ve created a new one. Or maybe he shouldn’t have messed with the child's skull at all. 

Whitney had made her way to him, asking what happened and he explained the situation. 

Both of their eyes turned to the mound. Wide and wondering. What was going to happen? Should they flee? 

When a hand shot up out of the dirt a blood-curdling shriek left the both of them.


End file.
